The Fun of the Chase
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Schultz sprains his ankle pretty badly, and Django does his best to patch and cheer him up.


"It's just a sprain, really. I'll be back in the saddle in a few days," King says bravely.

He gingerly picks himself off the ground after disentangling his ankle from a hidden tree root. He weakly props himself up against the tree that had inadvertently harmed him.

"Doc, come on. We can take more than a few days off. How are we supposed to ride if your ankle is busted?"

"I'm fine. Truly. If you could just help me over to Fritz, I'll be fine."

He reaches his hand out to Django and carefully puts his injured foot onto the ground. King tests his sprain before instantly recoiling with a pained hiss. King opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had closed, to find Django shaking his head at him.

"Let's just set up camp now, Doc. We've got plenty of food and money if we need to get you a proper doctor."

King wants to deny his idea to set up camp a third time, but another bolt of pain shoots up his leg, and he knows he has to concede.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to assist you and sitting down is sounding more and more like a wise idea."

Django nods and goes through a list of their supplies in his mind before helping Schultz sit down on a nearby log.

"We need to get your boot off and brace your ankle."

"Should be fun."

Django cracks a smile at King's sarcasm and kneels down in front of his partner, trying to think of the best way to get his boot off without aggravating his injury.

"This is gonna hurt. You want something to bite on?"

"No, no, I think, in this case, it would be best to pull it off quickly. Don't stop if I shout. Just remove it all at once."

"Alright then."-Django rolls up King's pant's leg and undoes the laces.-"On the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

King lets out a harsh grunt of pain when Django pulls the tongue and heel of his boot. He breathes heavily through gritted teeth and looks away from his twisted ankle. It's barely a relief when the boot is finally off with his sock following. Morbid curiosity forces him to look down, only to see his foot and ankle already swelling and turning red and purple. There's not a chance he'll be riding or bounty hunting anywhere for at least a fortnight.

"I'll need to keep it elevated at least for the next few days."

King sounds tense and pained, clenching his fists at his sides tightly as he tries not to focus on the pain. His lips form a thin line, and his brows almost meet in the middle of forehead as he lets his mind wander to dark places. Django is startled by the sudden change in the doctor's demeanor. Is the bounty hunting business finally taking its toll on his friend and partner?

"You alright?"

Schultz hears the weight behind his words and waffles on whether or not to answer the questions Django's not asking him.

"My ankle will be fine," he evades.

His response sounds transparent even to his own ears.

"King."

He sighs deeply, half breathing through pain and half to give him extra time to think. The old worries that claw at the back of his mind often return. He decides it is best to be frank. "It hurts. My ankle, my back, my shoulders. I'm tired, Django, but bounty hunting isn't a career one can quietly leave. There will always be criminals and crooks after me for what I've done to their number, people seeking revenge for family and friends I've murdered. I look over my shoulder and wait for the bullet or the the knife or the fist or the rope that will end me. My death will certainly not be a painless one. And now I have you. I want to help you, lad, but I worry that this job will kill me before I can fulfill my promises to you. I must, however, push onward. We will rest a week and damn my leg. We need to get to Mississippi sooner rather than later."

King's words sadden him, and he can't help it when he surges up from the leafy forest floor to clasp his friend in a tight hug. Schultz resists at first. He's not used to affection that hasn't been purchased. But he eventually eases into when Django doesn't immediately release him by unclenching his fists and wrapping his arms around his partner. Django is warm and welcoming, and he cannot help himself when he gets the sudden urge to press soft kisses to his cheek and neck. It makes Django squeeze him that much tighter.

"No one's gonna hurt you, Doc. Not if I can help it. We gonna make you better and kill those bastards who took my wife. No one can stop us when you and me together. No one." Django releases Schultz from his arms and looks him straight in the eye to ensure there has been no misunderstanding. "You take care of me, and I take care of you. That's what being partners means."

Finished saying what he wanted to say, Django leans back in and leaves his own kiss on King's lips to seal his words. Though it is over almost before it began, Django feels a tickle of beard and the fullness of lips before pulling away. King's eyes have new life in them when he looks at him again.

"I mean it, King."

"I don't doubt that for a second, my boy. Now, let's see about wrapping this ankle and getting a fire going before darkness settles. And perhaps we can see about distracting me from this pain. I'm sure we can figure something out between the two of us," King hints.

Django stands, smirking, before going to the cart to obtain some bandages.

"I'm startin' to think you did that to yourself on purpose, Doc," he says over his shoulder. "You tryin' to take advantage of me?"

Schultz lets out a small laugh, tension finally broken. "Ahhh, but if I told you that, that would spoil the fun of the chase. Humor this old bounty hunter, won't you?"

Django-bandages in hand-laughs too. "Whatever you say, Doc. Whatever you say."


End file.
